


Toys of Yesterday

by AegagrusThrone



Category: Neopets
Genre: Implied Character Death, MSPP - Freeform, Other, Pediophobia CW, Plushies, Possessed Plushie, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23334019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AegagrusThrone/pseuds/AegagrusThrone
Summary: A short story written for Neollusions' November Writing Prompt on Neopets, focused on the unfortunate past of one Malevolent Sentient Poogle Plushie. The prompt was as follows: "Choose a villain from any TV show, movie, cartoon, book, Neopets, etc. What was the single most significant factor/event that led them to their evil ways? Do they have any regrets about who they have become? Why or why not?"
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Toys of Yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> This work has been proofread several times, but has not gone through the beta process. There may be mistakes I have missed during editing and you are more than welcome to point them out to me.
> 
> While extremely toned down compared to my usual work - rightfully so, it was written for Neopets - there are themes present which may disturb some readers. Content warnings include possessed plushies, soul trapping, and implied major character death.
> 
> Very loosely based on the song Play With Me by Insane Clown Posse.

Among Neopia's surface is a dark patch of forest informally known as the Haunted Woods. Its populace of ghosts, zombies, vampires, lycanthropes, and other such abominations made it so notorious that few stayed there long if they can help it. This avoidance was not entirely unfounded; many who called the Haunted Woods their home were dangerous, often uncontrollably so. Theirs is a community that remains difficult to understand, and most of their inhabitants keep to themselves. They prefer to hide away in decrepit houses, crumbling mansions, unearthly carnival-grounds, abandoned laboratories scattered and forgotten among the dying trees. Visitors are unlikely to find even a straggler lurking outside what few shops and tourist attractions draw strangers in.

Within one of the laboratories was a particularly loathsome fiend avoided by even the most monstrous of the Woods. The beast went by many names, the most well-known being **Mylingar** : a sentient stuffed Poogle who reeked of chaotic magic, a toy brought to blasphemous life through means undiscovered. Some said it was cursed by the Dark Faerie, Jhudora; others said it was an experiment gone wrong, courtesy of Edna or Sophie or some other witch, wicked or otherwise; and still others said that it was a freak accident born in the bowels of very lab it haunted. Its high-pitched laughter and howls of outrage caused many a sleepless night, little ones insisting they could see its red eyes glowing within the darkness of their closets. Every creature was afraid of it, and it basked proudly in that fear.

What happens to the unfortunate who cross the path of Mylingar is known to select few. Unfortunately, the most common assumption was frightfully close to the truth. Mylingar had chosen long ago to exist without regrets. It had been made to entertain, sit on shelves littered with other stuffed toys as a collection, be ripped apart by the family Warf if it was unlucky enough. Why should it be bound by the same morals as those of flesh and bone? Its existence was full of opportunities ripe for the taking, and it started with the destruction of those it was meant to delight. Their souls belonged to Mylingar, their bodies turned to plushies, forgotten in the rubble of an abandoned structure as she had been long ago.

Still, unbeknownst to any, there was an uncomfortable sensation somewhere deep within its chest. Mylingar would see it as proof of a heart had it not known better. A reminder of what could have been. Sometimes it humored the nagging, let itself be carried before everything went violently wrong. It remembered the little girl begging her mother to let her bring Mylingar home, how she promised to play with and love her new friend forever and ever, how tightly it was squeezed as mother and child walked home hand-in-hand...

* * *

Primrose adored her plushies. From a young age she was something of a collector, hoarding her newest additions inside an overstuffed toy-box in her closet. When the latest Poogle Plushie collectable came out, she absolutely **HAD** to have one for the Day of Giving, insisting everyone else at school would make fun of her if she didn't. Her mother, Sable, thought little of it; it was the holidays, her little girl loved stuffed toys, the price was somewhat reasonable. The choice seemed obvious at the time. Primrose held her new toy to her chest with a wide, toothy grin as they trekked home one fateful snowy afternoon, and Sable could not help but smile with her.

Within a week of bringing the stuffed Poogle home however, Sable's tune completely changed. She was loath to admit it, but she grew to fear the toy, dreading the inevitable days where Primrose forgot to put up her belongings before bed. Its eyes seemed to follow her everywhere, judging every move she made, sometimes appearing in places Primrose could not reach by herself. Sable did her best to put it out of her mind, only for Primrose to bring the Poogle directly to her and babble about her latest playtime escapades, all the while ignorant to the way her mother's hair stood on end. The things she did for her daughter's love...

Sable found it odd Primrose never seemed to bother giving the Poogle a name. She carried it with her whenever she went outside, she had long conversations with it at bedtime, she snuggled up to it as she slept under the glow of the TV light, yet she never named the plushie she loved so much. Then the fad ended and Alien Aisha plushies stocked the shelves, and all Primrose could talk about was how badly she wanted one. The holidays had come and gone, their Neopoints with it, so initially Sable refused. It was only when Primrose responded with a week's worth of silence that she gave in and bought it for her, and the Poogle began to appear less and less.

One evening, Sable found the family Warf chewing on the Poogle's head. The toy looked pitiful, almost outraged, weaving a new knot of fear deep within her gut. Against her better judgement ( _better to let Fido tear the wretched thing apart_ ) Sable carefully pulled the toy free and returned it to her daughter. "You really ought to be more careful with your things!" she scolded as Primrose flipped through channels on the television. "That plushie cost us lots of points, you know. It was a Christmas gift; you're supposed to take good care of it!

"I **am** taking good care of it," Primrose answered, rolling her eyes. "It's just a **toy** , Mom! If it gets torn up, we can always buy a new one." And that was the end of that.

One by one, more plushies were pushed onto Neopian Central shelves. The Poogle appeared less and less, eventually disappearing altogether. Sable later found it tucked inside Primrose's toy-box and heaved a sigh of relief. Maybe now she could rest easy. After all, her daughter was right. It **was** just a toy.

* * *

The night was clear and peaceful. The sky was illuminated by a full moon, a calm breeze signaling the arrival of autumn. Primrose had grown much older now, a teenager with a budding interest in medicine. The toy-box had been left untouched for several years. Primrose had lost interest in her toys long ago, but she simply did not have the heart to get rid of them yet.

She went through her usual evening routine: brush her teeth, settle down in bed to read, shut off the lights only when she felt herself start to nod off. She tucked herself in and snuggled into the covers with a contented sigh. Occasionally the house creaked and groaned, but she had no reason to be afraid...that is, until the creaking came from the other side of the room.

Primrose opened her eyes and slowly – irritably – pushed herself onto her elbows to look. Her closet door was opening on its own. Odd, but not unheard of. Maybe she had not closed it all the way like she thought she did. Then, right as she prepared to lay herself back down, the door opened with a loud slam, and she saw her undoing.

Its eyes were amber-glowing pits in the shadows, its sharp claws glittering in moonlight. As its fearsome, grinning teeth parted she could smell something foul, somehow underlined by a sickly sweetness lingering beneath. The ears curled up like horns to block out the moon, a monstrous shadow cast upon the wall as quiet, childlike laughter began to echo within her very ears. Primrose's heart leapt into her stomach and her hackles raised, but she found herself frozen in place, her breaths quiet and shallow. The laughter grew louder, and the creature inched closer, and its grin was impossibly wide.

_Hey, Prim...it's been a while, huh?_

It knew her name. Her eyes grew wide and she tried to open her mouth to speak; instead her jaw clenched tighter, stifling her whimpers.

_I've been watching you, you know...I've been watching you for seven years. Keeping track of the days wasn't always easy, but I always counted, always..._

Seven years ago. Eight years old. She played pretend with her plushies. Her favorites had always been the doggies: Gelerts, Lupes, Poogles...Poogles were quite popular. The creature was at the foot of her bed, tearing her blankets to strips with its talons. Something about it seemed amused, like Primrose's terror was somehow cathartic.

_Why did you throw me away, Prim? Was I not good enough for you? You said you'd love me forever and ever, right? You said it when your Mommy bought me for you. You promised, Prim..._

Words dripping with hatred. It hated her and she did not even understand why. It towered above her now, and as her eyes adjusted she could finally see what it was. Completely yellow but for a green leg sewn into its hip, beady red eyes leering into her very thoughts. A Poogle. But Mom! All my friends have one, and this is the last one! One day she put it in the toybox and never brought it back out. She didn't mean anything by it, it was just a toy, toys don't have feelings –

Something wet and warm slid down her cheeks. Primrose sniffled and quivered her lips, then squeezed her eyes shut and grasped at her hair, pulling it as hard as she could. _Wake up!_ She shook her head madly and curled into a ball. _Wake up wake up wake UP!!_ But the voice was still laughing madly in her head, and she would swear she could feel several long, gnarled fingers pointing straight at her from the darkness.

_You're scared. I get it...I thought you were tougher than this, but you were a coward this whole time, huh?_ The voice grew deeper and more ominous. Primrose's mouth felt strangely dry. _Don't worry...I'm not gonna hurt you. I just want to teach you a little lesson, that's all..._ She dared not look at it. Even as a strange, red glow pierced her eyelids, Primrose could only cower and hope for the best.

_Its my turn to play, Prim..._ She knew it was smiling. _My turn to play with **YOU.**_

A deep red glow pulsed against the walls, growing brighter and brighter. It slowed, and slowed, then flashed through the curtains of the bedroom. Within seconds it faded away and the monster disappeared with it, as though it had never been there in the first place. The room was peaceful, seemingly undisturbed but for the shredded remains of the blankets...and a single plushie missing from the toybox.

Primrose did not even have the chance to cry out.

* * *

Sable awoke in a cold sweat. The house was quiet, the outside breeze gentle. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribcage. Something was wrong, she could feel it in her gut. Immediately she thought of her daughter, her thoughts racing as she clambered out of bed and rushed to the door, bursting it open. Don't let me be too late!

There, down the hallway, was Primrose's bedroom. Sable was afraid of what might be waiting for her there. Memories long buried brought a fresh wave of despair down her spine. Even if she could remember what she had been dreaming, it was second only to what was so clear now. It was the Poogle, oh yes, that blasted Poogle toy, she should never have brought it home _it has her baby in its grip oh **WHY** –_

Prim?!" Sable cried out. No answer. She rushed down the hall and gripped the knob tight, relieved to find it unlocked. _Prim?!_ She yanked open the door and her wide, searching eyes chanced a look at the bed. There was no sign of Primrose anywhere. Instead, sitting in her child's place was a Xweetok plushie. Not one Sable remembered buying before, yet something about it was painfully familiar. From the Vira pajamas to the curly brown mop, it looked good as new...recently made, in fact. It reminded her of someone she knew very well. Someone she had known and took care of since infancy, someone she loved more than life itself.

( _those are **her** eyes_)

It wasn't until she fell to her knees Sable realized she was screaming.


End file.
